


undone

by timelordswillwasteyou



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Desperate Arousal, M/M, Masturbation, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-14 23:59:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16051259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timelordswillwasteyou/pseuds/timelordswillwasteyou
Summary: Fushimi only ever does this after he’s fought with Misaki, these days.





	undone

**Author's Note:**

> wrote this in like 10 minutes between the literal 500 pages a week I read for grad school, so unedited, but I couldn't get this out of my head after listening to angsty Manchester Orchestra. because angsty masturbation is *clenches fist* yes.

Fushimi only ever does this after he’s fought with Misaki, these days.

It used to be more often. When he was Misaki’s whole world (and Misaki, of course, was his, but that isn't what changed) and all they had was each other, Fushimi’s intellect and Misaki’s boundless energy and optimism and beauty, and no one to come between them. Just him and his Misaki, his bright, beautiful, touch-starved Misaki who always had his hands on Fushimi’s shoulders or his hair brushing Fushimi’s earlobe or his arms around Fushimi’s waist or his lips pressing idealistic nonsense into his neck – 

And yeah, Fushimi used to do this a lot more. He had to; it was out of necessity. Having Misaki find out about this particular problem wouldn’t do, not his innocent, beautiful Misaki who didn’t ask for his best and only friend to fall for him this hard, who didn’t know (didn’t and doesn’t ever need to know) how often (always) Fushimi thought of sharing Misaki’s air, of putting his hands on Misaki’s body, all over him, his neck and hair and eyebrows and upper lip and lower lip and collarbone and hands and chest and breastbone and hips and tummy and cock and thighs and kneecaps and calves and ankles and _all_ of him, _god_ , Fushimi wants all of him. So yes, of course he did this more, back when all they had to know and to touch was each other.

But he doesn’t, anymore. He’s taught himself not to want it. It was easier than he thought it would be, to stop wanting it. All he had to do was remind himself that no part of himself or what he has done allows him the luxury of even thinking of Misaki, much less remembering how much he used to want him, much less allowing his mind to conjure up images of him sitting at the bar with the low light playing with shadows across his face, back when every laugh meant Fushimi was losing him more. He did the right thing, leaving the way he did, because there was no place for a gloomy, grumpy childhood friend who couldn’t handle a little heartbreak. So he knows his place – knows where it isn’t, at least, and that’s by Misaki’s side, but knowing his actual place is a little different, he supposes – and knows no part of him deserves thoughts of Misaki. 

Sometimes, though, the want overwhelms him, no less intense than it was when he was a teenager, and he has to do this just to move on with his day (he doesn’t lie to himself, anymore, that it will allow him to move on with his life). So when he gingerly pulls himself over the hem of his uniform ( _blue_ ) pants, having barely made it into his dorm and sinking halfway down the inside of the door, he lets the guilt and the want and the self-hatred and the memory of Misaki’s face from not even a half hour before (his passion and anger all directed at himself, and he looked beautiful, and Fushimi is relieved that he no longer seems sad even if he’s the only one who’s recovered) wash over him, his face tilted toward the ceiling and eyes closed so he doesn’t have to watch his fingers working over himself or the moisture bead and then overflow from how much he _wants_. 

It doesn’t take long. It never does. He comes with Misaki’s smile in his mind’s eye, and allows the trembling to take him to the floor as he lets the tears he didn’t even know had formed overflow. 


End file.
